Square Dance
by Sossity
Summary: What had made her think she could sit across from them all evening without screaming?  Post-canon F/K/V/S


**Two**

This was not a good idea.

In fact, it was an awful idea.

What had made her think she could sit across from _them_ all evening without screaming?

* * *

><p><strong>One<strong>

People said a lot of things about the man Stella's ex-husband had impersonated for so long. He was loud, he was obnoxious, he had a temper. There were a frankly suspicious number of false accusations of misconduct against him. But no one ever said he was _sweet._ No one had told her he'd charm the pants off her (figuratively, of course) while they waited like good little soldiers for the heroes to return. But then, she'd always been a sucker for terrible pick up lines from good people. _Or_, she thought, thinking of Orsini and a few lawyers she'd known, _flawless pick-ups from terrible people._ Maybe it was the contrast that hooked her.

Hell, he'd talked her into eloping to Florida within a few weeks of the positive resolution of the case. Within three months of meeting each other. It seemed like something out of a fairy tale. Their happy ending.

But she knows damn well there's no such thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Two<strong>

She knew from experience that Ray Vecchio could outtalk just about anyone, and she was long used to pleading cases in front of much more hostile audiences. The Mountie could pull out story after story, and even Ray Kowalski could build up a good head of steam when he felt like it.

But they were all just sitting there in the restaurant, party line drawn through the middle of the booth, letting the awkward silence deepen until her ears started ringing.

She ordered the haddock. At least she'd get a good meal out of the evening.

* * *

><p><strong>One<strong>

Florida, and there was no getting around it, was a complete disaster. What on earth had made either of them think that a plainclothes detective and a prosecuting attorney had the skills or knowledge to run a bowling alley? They ran it all right. Straight into the ground.

By the end of it all, she was having panic attacks nearly every day, and he was having constant nightmares he wouldn't share with her. It just wasn't working. They both knew it and neither would admit it. In the end, it was Ray who manned up and said it out loud, and she loved him for it. (Her other Ray, her first one, would have just said something sappy and meaningless about how they were together and nothing else mattered.)

So they left. Packed up. Sold everything and headed back to Chicago with their tails between their legs. But it was okay because-and she laughed _so hard_ on the plane when she realized it-they had each other.

About a month later, Ray and his Mountie did pretty much the same thing. And Fraser was definitely _his _Mountie when they came back. Sometimes Stella and _her _Ray would sit back in the evening with a cup of tea (she doesn't really drink anymore) and wonder when the hell _that_ happened. The adventure thing? The submarine thing? Way back at the beginning of the undercover thing? They both had to agree that Ray and Benny seemed like they were really good for each other, though.

* * *

><p><strong>Three<strong>

Bowling night had actually been a success. It seemed that if there was no pressure on them to be civil, if they could all forget how weird it was to hang out on the weekends with your ex-spouse or your ex-partner, they actually had _fun._

So they called it Couples Night, as silly and suburban as that sounded, and made it an official every other Saturday thing.

This time, she'd suggested square dancing. She and Ray had been dancers since they were children, after all, so she knew they'd both enjoy it. Fraser would get a kick out of the history and form of it all, even if he wasn't a dancer (and she could tell by the look on his face when they brought it up that he was headed to the library to research it just as soon as the conversation finished). Ray complained loudly at first about how ridiculous and undignified the hobby was, but she just held up his favorite yellow and purple zig-zagged shirt and smiled while he ranted. Pretty soon they were both sprawled across the bed laughing.

Then they weren't laughing.

(Well. Maybe giggling just a little bit.)

* * *

><p><strong>One<strong>

The trouble was, it turned out to be very difficult to avoid each other. Ray went back to the 27th (unlike Huey and Dewey, who were still trying to make a go of their painful stand-up routine), and she went back to the wonderful world of prosecution. When the other two returned to Chicago, Ray got partnered with Ray and the Mountie worked with both of them. When she thought about it, difficult was kind of an understatement. Fortunately, even though she heard enough about it when she got home, she only had to deal with the three of them in person on the occasions when she couldn't avoid the precinct.

Like the time she had entered to find Ray and Ray getting ready to throttle each other in the break room. She dropped her papers in surprise and tried to get between them. She must have been shouting as she tried to lever them apart, because the Mountie ran in from somewhere, jumped over a table, and grabbed hold of Kowalski. She pulled Vecchio back (most people never realized she was strong, that she could hold her own in a fight, but they could go hang) and they all stood there, suspended in the moment, trying to get their balance.

She looked over at the Mountie to get a sense of what he was going to do next, and (and she'd never admit this to _anyone_) something clicked. For once _they_ were the partners, the duet, moving in unison. They wrestled their Rays over to a table and sat them down. Just before they started diplomatic proceedings, Stella caught the Mountie's-Fraser's-eye. _Doesn't it absolutely suck to be the adults sometimes?_ she asked wordlessly. For a second she thought he didn't get it, but then he gave her a tiny, amused smile, and, you know, _maybe_ there was a reason the women at the station were always throwing themselves at him besides the fact that the only other available bachelor had been Tom "Stewed Cabbage & Toe Jam" Dewey.

But yeah. Avoidance was out of the question.

Later, when she was lying in bed in the darkness with her head on Ray's shoulder and his snores in her ear, she wondered if she really minded all that much.

* * *

><p><strong>Three<strong>

They met up in the parking lot; Ray and Fraser pulling up in their GTO, Stella and Ray stepping out of the '69 green Buick Riviera (yeah, they found another one. So what if the rear bumper was held on with duct tape?) like members of a tiny antique car show. Ray came over and kissed her on the cheek while Ray and Fraser shared a hug completely free of homoerotic undertones.

* * *

><p><strong>Two<strong>

She knew they could all separate after that dinner from hell with no repercussions. Just head home with nothing but a little styrofoam box of fish and pizza to show for it. Chalk it all up to a bad idea that would never have worked.

"So!" she began brightly. Everyone looked at her hopefully. "So," she said again, realizing she had no idea what to say next.

* * *

><p><strong>Three<strong>

They were paired with two couples she'd never met before, although Fraser seemed to know the lady to Ray's left and was chatting happily away with her about her grandson who was overseas in the Army. He and Ray had a long, joking argument on who would lead while they waited, Ray finally winning due to greater experience and skill.

The caller ascended the platform and switched the mic on. Everyone grew silent in anticipation.

* * *

><p><strong>One<strong>

There were a lot of other activities that they wanted to get to eventually, but square dancing usually won out since the four of them always had so much fun. Things were good. Extremely good. The more outings they went on-as well as the evenings back at the house, or Ray's apartment, just sitting around talking after they were done-the closer they became, like a knot being pulled tighter and tighter until you couldn't separate strand from strand. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this happy.

At least, that's what she said to Ray as they walked through the station together. He seemed to understand just what she meant, but then he always did, didn't he?

She was so intent on the conversation and the connection they were making that she walked into the men's room by accident, and right into Fraser and Ray with their hands down each other's pants.

She was shocked, of course. Shocked and horrified and not a little bit angry. The scene looked nothing like a painting from an old master's hand; Fraser with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and Ray with his head thrown back held no expressions of heavenly transcendence or exultation on their faces. She was transfixed by nothing but her own surprise. She wasn't.

She heard Kowalski's voice from a long distance away as he came in behind her, still talking, and trailed off as he saw it too.

* * *

><p><strong>Two<strong>

"And _then_ he, he said," Ray Kowalski sputtered, waving his water glass wildly in the air, "I couldn't _possibly_ have done it since I was busy having tea and mushrooms with the giant pink lizard that lives in my dishwasher!"

It was too much for Vecchio, who burst out into shrieking laughter. "Oh my God, Kowalski, those assault charges better have stuck!"

"_Oh_ yeah, they stuck all right. And then-get this-he starts _arguing_ with the damn thing! Whole time we're dragging him off, he's screaming at some imaginary lizard for not backing up his alibi! I swear, all I had to do when we got him in the interview room was to tell him his imaginary friend there had turned state's evidence and he was singing like a canary."

Stella took advantage of the table's hysterical laughter to steal a piece of Ray's pizza. She never could resist pineapple.

* * *

><p><strong>Four<strong>

Stella is putting her work clothes in the hamper, assisted by a very helpful half-wolf. The conversation swells as she comes down the stairs. Ray gives her a peck on the mouth before going off to check the oil in the Riviera. In the kitchen, Ray is making cannelloni for dinner, with a frilly apron (a gift from Stella's mom) over his silk shirt and slacks. He's put Ben in charge of dessert. Stella leans back on the counter and watches him measure spoon after spoon of baking powder into a mixing bowl. He's concentrating so hard and so seriously she's half afraid he's going to rupture something. There's only one thing to do. Stella pushes herself up so she's sitting on the counter next to them and proceeds to make Ben laugh so hard he spills powder all over the floor and completely forgets how many scoops he's put in the bowl.

He calls her a witch, and she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. He holds her tightly and buries his face in her neck, smelling her perfume. Ray drops a kiss on his head and tells them both to knock it off if they want to eat.

* * *

><p><strong>Three<strong>

The rhythmic dance calls fly through the air as they twirl around each other. _It's all about trust,_ she realizes. She has to trust Ray to love her, and herself to love him. She has to trust Fraser to take care of Ray, and love _him_. She has to hand Ray to Ray and watch them spin in a circle together, trusting that they'll hold each other up. Ben has her arm and he's moving through the steps with her. He passes her to Ray Kowalski and she can see in Ben's face that he's trying to trust them both. She watches Ray Vecchio guide a little old lady through the steps and then he's back with Ben, and she's watching them from the outside, and then she's back between them with Ray Kowalski in front of her, grinning like he always has, and the music swirls around them as they grow dizzier and lean on each other deep into the night.


End file.
